


What Mickey Knows

by merrabeth



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: AU, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Mentions of Abusive Relationships, foreplaying and whatnot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-27
Updated: 2014-07-27
Packaged: 2018-02-10 14:24:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2028363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merrabeth/pseuds/merrabeth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>could you write something where ian is in an abusive relationship and mickey steps in? thanks :)</p><p>▼<br/>Anonymous</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Mickey Knows

**Author's Note:**

> I hope this works ^_^

Here are a couple things that Mickey knows:

  1.        Ian and Lip fought (Sometimes the verbal just wasn’t enough and fists need to be swung to get their point across. Or maybe a foot. To the stomach. Or groin if either were lucky enough with their reflexes).
  2.        And even though they did fight, it was never a continuous thing that happened for a 3 consecutive weeks.



That is, to say, one of them would emerge from the school grounds weekly with new scars. What set Mickey off was the location of Ian’s scars as well as the fact that _he_ was the one with them rather than his brother, Lip. Even though Lip can get a few good blows in, Ian is pretty much the likely one to come out on top.

Mickey would stare at his new scar, this one being purple lines wrapped around his bicep. And he’d stare as they walked home with Mandy blathering about her summer day or whoever was a slut for whatever reason until Ian would feel Mickey’s gaze and look down to where his eyes lay. “Lip and I fought it out again,” he’d explain, and Mickey was trying his best to make Ian think he believed that pile of shit he was giving him. It almost scared Mickey how easy Ian could lie about it, how he could wipe away whatever guy had given him those marks-

Oh! Mickey knew Ian was gay. It’d taken a while for their friendship to reach the point where Ian didn’t fear Mickey was a homophobic, bigoted ass like his father, but Mickey was secretly glad the day came. But if there was any uneasiness in Mickey, it wasn’t for the reason everyone would think. It had taken _years_ for Mickey to even to admit to himself that he was gay, and here Gallagher was, knowing it for who knows how long, just waiting for the right time to tell his good friend.

That was another thing Mickey knew: the Gallaghers weren’t that bad. It took Mandy going through both of the oldest Gallagher boys (well, maybe not both, exactly, Mickey figures, since Mandy knew Ian was gay) for them to become friends. But Mickey drew more to the red head, silent and content with the way things were but willing to make things better when the moment came. In a lot of ways, Ian was like his sister, and he molded a friendship with the younger boy that hung around border-line familial.

It was safe to say Mickey felt a certain way to think that maybe Ian was being abused. Not just because he’d witness Mandy go through abusive relationships as well, but also because of the guys that were doing the abusing. Ian had always gone for the guys twice his age, married, from the stories Mandy told him on nights when Ian would stumble home after hanging out at the Milkovich abode. To think that some senior citizen was able to take Ian off his game enough to leave the boy bruised was totally unsettling.

It was the third week, and Mickey was waiting across the street from his old high school, waiting promptly for his sister and friend to come after a long day in summer school- to make up for the classes both of them had missed- and walk home with them. Mickey’s not sure what has gotten into him, but he’s sure he’s never done thing kind of thing before (he doesn’t like to point out to himself that he started this daily tradition around the time Ian came out to Mickey). He brushes the thought aside as Mandy and Ian edge nearer, and the colors of a new bruise clouds his vision- on his neck. When they stood in front of Mickey, he noticed they were splotches, as if Ian had been punched in the throat. He followed the scar as they walked home, and Ian didn’t try to feed him any bullshit, surprisingly. And though he didn’t mention it the whole time Ian sat on their couch, he was quick to mention it as soon as he was out of the door.

“What the fuck is up with him?” His heart stopped at the idea of his sister mentioning his eagerness, but she seemed to fly by it, a might of worry rolling off her as well.

“I have no idea. He won’t tell me,” she muttered, staring at the door Ian just walked out of.

Then it must be serious, because here’s another thing Mickey knows: Ian tells Mandy everything.

 A determination set in him; he was determined to hear the words from Ian. It was almost like Mickey _needed_ to hear the words, like the Genie did in Aladdin: “Mickey, I’ve been beaten by my new boyfriend.” It would be that simple, and Mickey was going to get it out of Ian.

 

Mickey’s body was being pulled in two opposite directions. His heart fluttered and his mind raced at the thought of him plucking up the courage to ask Ian about his bruises. But the hot humidity had his blood thick like paste as it flowed sluggishly through his veins.

Gallagher exited on cue, his body worn out by the weather as it hit him. He caught Mickey’s eyes, and Mickey immediately looked down, feeling the green eyes burning through his already scorched skin as he tried to find some answer as to why Mickey was there in the first place.

“Mandy didn’t come to school,” Ian called out as he met the brunette. “I thought maybe she stayed home.”

“Yeah, she’s at home. I came here for…” he trailed off. There was something too intimate about confirming it was Ian that Mickey wanted in this moment.

“For me?” Ian asked in surprise. “Why?”

Mickey rubbed at his bottom lip idly, staring at the mark on his freckled neck. “What happened to your neck?”

His hand when up to cradle the scar, rubbing at is as he remembered it. “The guy I’m hookin’ up with…” he trailed off and Mickey held his breath as he listened for the words he so desperately needed to hear. But no such luck. “He likes it rough,” he gave with a weak smile, somewhat embarrassed  by his words.

Mickey let out a deep, frustrated sigh. “Ian, it is _too_ hot and _too_ humid for your bullshit.”

Ian reeled back at the sound of his first name spilling over Mickey’s lips. “You never call me that.”

“That’s because I’m not playing.” Mickey took a step forward, lowering his voice. “What. The fuck. Happened.”

There was a something of a stare off as Ian battled with whether the truth was best.

“He…” Ian started before he decided to change it. “I said some things, and I made him mad-“

Ian was cut off by a sound emitting from Mickey’s chest, something between a groan and a growl. “Don’t give me that shit, Ian! It doesn’t matter if you said his dick was the size of a thumbtack; it doesn’t give him a right to hit you!”

“Well how different is it from when I fight with Lip?” Ian argued. “It’s always the same thing: I say something, and my ass gets handed to me in return.”

“Lip is your brother and you _never_ get your ass handed to you. It’s always a fair fight!” Mickey yanked Ian’s arm and shoved the short sleeve up to show the fading finger marks. He laughed humorlessly. “It’s like you’re not even trying with this guy. You _always_ fight back when _we_ go at it. What the fuck?”

He snatched his arm away. “You just don’t get it.”

The words shocked Mickey to the point that his eyebrows sky-rocketed to his hairline. He came from a family of abuse. How could he _not_ get it? “Look…if this was Mandy, would you just sit back and watch her get hurt?”

Ian scoffed. “That’s different.”

“How? Please, enlighten me!”

The silence fell back over them as the staring continued. Mickey didn’t back down, however, when that same expression of confusion laced Ian’s features. “Why do you care, anyway?” Ian questioned his voice almost a whisper.

“Don’t.” The word came out so quickly, but it was the only thing he could think at that point.

“Don’t, what?”

Mickey always had a wall made of all the strongest materials to guard him from any emotional hurricane no matter how high or how strong. But even with the barricade, Ian found that he was still capable of being a human being. He could laugh and joke around with him, but that was the extent. _Sometimes_ he’d even ask a question that showed he may be cared about what Ian thought or did, but that was it. But Mickey had brought down his wall and it was like he was exposed and Ian could read his every thought, like he could read the thoughts that even Mickey wouldn’t allow himself to thing.

“You never….this isn’t about me.”

Ian shook his head, amused and defeated, mirroring how Mickey felt.

“Ok, who is it?” Mickey had to get things back to the reason he was doing this in the first place. “Another geriatric Viagroid?”

“His name is _Brian_. What, you gonna beat him up for me? I don’t need you to fight my battles.”

Mickey gave a slow nod. “You’re right. _You’re_ gonna fight them.”

“Huh?”

He continued. “And I’m gonna help.”

“Mick, I don’t need-“

“Obviously there’s something about this guy that’s making him hard to tackle. Two’s better than one, right?”

“But Mickey-“

“Jesus, are you deaf?” Mickey exclaimed, feeling on edge all over again. “We’re ending this. Together.”

Any chance at putting that wall back up disintegrated as that word stumbled out. Together. But it helped Ian, somehow, because he nodded then. “O-ok.”

“Good. Now, when are you gonna see this guy again…”

* * *

 

 _Of course_ the guy had to be from the north side, Mickey grumbled to himself. It’d be too much to ask for Ian to find some rich joker on the south side or even near the downtown area. Nope, too much work.

“Why are you doing this?” Ian asked where they sat at an outside café with a fountain close by. The deep seething hatred Mickey felt in that moment was all over his face.

He shrugged, looking at his surroundings at all times. “Because.”

Ian smirked. It’d been a day since Mickey had slipped and shown he truly cared for Ian’s well-being, and he couldn’t say he wasn’t enjoying seeing Mickey in this new light. “Because, why?” Ian continued.

“Jesus, Ian,” Mickey mumbled, still not meeting his eyes.

And Ian couldn’t say he didn’t like the way his name sounded when Mickey said it. It just sounded so right, so perfect, and he was afraid he’d get used to it too quickly.

“You never told me why,” Ian egged on.

Mickey turned then, an irritated glare on his face. “You wanna know why? Fuck you. That’s why.”

He started off with a laugh, but it ended as a sigh as he looked to the fountain- where Brian would be meeting Ian. “I can’t believe you’re making me do this.”

“I’m not making you do anything. There’s some part of you that wants this to end, or else you would have refused me all together. There’s some part of you that wants to grab a hot pot full of grits and swing it at his face then pound his head in with said hot pot.”

Ian scrutinized Mickey’s profile. The scenario had been so descriptive and familiar. Where had he heard of that before? Something that had to do with a family reunion. Ian gaped as he remembered. “Did you just reference _Madea_?”

Mickey shrugged as his answer. He continued to pick at his lip.

Meanwhile, Ian continued to stare at the dark haired boy. He’d only known about Madea because V had been watching it while she was baby-sitting Liam and he’d decided to watch it with her. “How the hell do _you_ know about that?”

Mickey turned then, blank seriousness in his eyes. “I’m a very well- rounded person, Ian,” and sputtered out a laugh when he couldn’t keep the face any longer. Ian never thought he’d be friends with Mickey, but after a while of hanging out and getting drunk, it turned out Mickey wasn’t as bad or stupid as people perceived him to be. And he wasn’t nearly as violent. He wasn’t sure when he finally picked up that most of Mickey’s threat held no tenacity, but when he did, everything from there just fell into place.

Mickey nodded toward the fountain. “Is that the guy?”

When Ian looked to where Mickey was referring, he saw the tan skin and silver hair that he’d been used to seeing for a month now. He looked calm and forgiving. It always started out this way. Ian nodded and shot up, his heart in his throat as he made his way over.

“Hey, Brian!” he called out, his voice sounding more normal than he expected.

* * *

 

Mickey watched from his seat. They’d gone over the plane yesterday and once today, but he was sure something would go wrong. Maybe Ian would forgive him, _again_. But it was a good thing Mickey had a plan B, just in case.

He watched it go down, step by step. Ian started off with a smile Mickey could tell was too tight to be real. Then came the serious part. Though Mickey couldn’t hear what they were saying, he could see Ian was trembling over his words, see him fidgeting with his fingers. And _Brian_ , his face became darker and darker as anger slipped in. Mickey watched as his hand gripped Ian’s neck on the opposite side of where his mark laid. He almost forgot his job when the guy brought Ian in for a kiss, but Mickey snapped a few pictures with his phone as his blood churned and his stomach flipped with queasiness.  And he wanted to turn his eyes away as it went on, but Brian pulled away, a sneer on his face as he spoke quickly to Ian. Ian turned his face away and Mickey wanted to close his eyes as those green eyes fell to his, the fear Mickey was sure he’d seen in his sister’s eyes plain as day. This is what he wanted, wasn’t it? Didn’t Mickey want to hear Ian say, “Mickey, I need your help”? He was sure this was what he wanted. But now, seeing the statement written on his face so clearly, Mickey felt he was on the edge of a cliff as his stomach dropped. From there, it was a long way down, and Ian was the cinderblock, the anvil, tied to his ankle that would drag him down.

But maybe that wasn’t such a bad thing.

The plan was working well as Brian led Ian off somewhere. Mickey followed safely behind as Ian was led to a close alleyway. He stood at the entrance, keeping his senses open to maybe catch what was being said.

“…you don’t _get_ a choice in this,” the unfamiliar voice- Brian’s, Mickey presumed- hissed. “You know what the situation is with my wife. It’d be nice if you could get it through you _thick_ skull.”

“I’m just tired of this, the sneaking around-“

“I keep telling you that we’d be sneaking around even if I _did_ tell my wife. You’re still 17.”

“Well then, maybe we should-“

“Hey, Ian!” Mickey called. The moment he’d hear Ian trying to make compromises with this asshole was his final straw. When he rounded the corner, he found Ian backed against the wall and Brian in front, arms crossed. “You, uh, need some help here?”

“Mick, I can handle this.”

“Who’s this?” Brian interjected, his eyes going between the two suspiciously. “This your boyfriend?” He looked angrier. Though Mickey was ready to jump at the fact that this guy was calling him a fag, he laughed at the way he seemed upset with the fact that Ian had someone else.

“I’m sorry, what did you just call me?”

“Mickey, go. I can-“

“No, no,” Mickey started, the anger he’d had before seeping back. “He may be scared to beat an old man, but I ain’t.” Unlike the threats Mickey gave Ian when he’d be the little shit he was, this one was real.

Ian stepped in Mickey’s path as he made his way over, further into the alley. “I told you, I can take care of this,” he mumbled.

“It’s cute, really.” Brian’s voice sounded amused. Mickey looked over Ian’s shoulder to see the smirk. “A thug to protect the precious little twink-bottom.”

It was Mickey’s turn to smirk as he saw a flip switch in Ian. He wasn’t sure which part of Brian’s taunt had his muscles tensing up, but he was glad to see the ball was, again, rolling as planned. “That all you think he is?” Mickey asked. “Some twink? You don’t know him at all, do you?”

Before Brian could answer, Ian turned around, a fist flying his way and knocking Brian to the ground. The deal was that Ian could get the first hit, then Mickey would finish it (it was so Ian wouldn’t feel Mickey was “fighting his battles”). And Mickey didn’t waste time, fearing he may try to get up, and gave a swift, hard kick to his stomach. He smiled as Brian coughed out with the impact of the blow.

With a satisfied sigh, Mickey lowered on one knee. “We have pictures. And I’m guessin’ you don’t hit your wife, but when she finds out you like fuckin’ teenage boys, she’ll walk.”

“You gonna out him, Mick?” Ian asked with a playful tone.

“His fault for livin’ a lie, right?” He turned back, eyes boring into the watering brown ones at his feet. “Stay away from Ian. And grow a pair. And take a lesson from the guy with the thick skull: if you’re gonna fuck dudes, you might as well be proud about it.” He stood up then, sure he got his point across.

Ian started walking off towards the entrance when he stopped, remembering something. “And I like being on top,” he spit out before continuing walking out.

Mickey knew the statement wasn’t for him, but he couldn’t help but think there was a part of Ian, maybe in a different life where Mickey had the courage to come out like Ian had, that maybe wanted Mickey to know for his benefit.

They walked in silence to the train station (which Mickey would like to point out seemed _very_ far) 3 blocks away. It wasn’t until they were about 10 minutes into their train ride that Ian finally spoke.

“Thanks.”

Mickey jumped at the unexpected sound. When he settled back, he persisted in looking out the window to the city coming close. “For what?”

Ian shrugged, not really sure himself, at first. “For caring, I guess. You could have taken my bullshit and let me keep on getting beaten, but you just…”

“You said I would get it.”

Ian was confused for a second. But then the words he muttered yesterday came back. “You gonna explain it?” Mickey asked, not taking his eyes off the passing scenery.

But Ian couldn’t. A day ago, he thought Brian was worth it. He thought he had feelings for the guy that he couldn’t describe. He thought he _loved_ him. But there he stood between Mickey and Brian, and seeing the way Mickey laughed at the preposterous accusation Brian made rather than getting upset, he knew something must have changed in Mickey. He wasn’t sure what, and he was sure he didn’t care.

“You were right,” Ian said clearly. Mickey looked confused, eyebrows furrowed. “About the Mandy thing,” he further explained. “I wouldn’t have just sat back and watched her get hurt. I love her. She’s more than my best friend; she’s family…” he stumbled over the next words, not wanting to push his luck. “So are you.”

Fuck, Mickey thought. Ian wasn’t making any of this easy, was he? It wasn’t enough that his own words from minutes before resonated in his mind- “His fault for livin’ a lie, right” and “If you’re gonna fuck dudes, you might as well be proud of it”- but now he had this red headed beacon of hope sitting next to him, promising him that no matter what, he has a family to turn to- even if that family just includes Mandy and Ian. And that _look_ on his face, it was like Ian _knew_. But he couldn’t know. Or maybe he didn’t, as Mickey suspected, but he was just willing to accept whatever it was that was going on inside Mickey. He’d need that.

Here’s another thing Mickey knew: if his dad found out he was gay, he’d disown him on the spot and kick him out with broken bones, or worse, kill him. Again, he felt his stomach drop as he stood on the edge of the cliff with the ball and chain shackled around his ankle. He couldn’t imagine ever coming out and taking that drop. But, again, with Ian looking at him like that, he wasn’t so sure it was bad.

* * *

 

An hour later, they find themselves back on their street in their neighborhood. They stumble up the steps to the Milkovich house with promises of getting really drunk and really high. All that changes when they open the door and see who’s sitting on the couch.

“Hey, pops,” Mickey greets, his voice naturally going to an unafraid sound. “Didn’t know you got out today.”

Terry’s face was in its permanent scrunched state and red from being wasted. “How could you know? You never came to visit, shitface!” His words were a bit slurred, but that was also a permanent state of Terry Milkovich.

“Hey guys,” Mandy said casually as she strolled in and sat at the dining room table.

Mickey nodded before addressing his dad. Everything seemed to be working normally in his body as he spoke, which may have freaked out Mickey even more. “It’s actually really good you’re here.” He glanced over at Ian, who always stood at alert whenever Terry was around. He’d had too many experiences with the man to _not_ be on his guard.

“I have something to tell you.”

**Author's Note:**

> you can send me prompts under "got somethin' to say?" on my tumblr, merrabeth.tumblr.com


End file.
